


Practice Makes Perfect

by FyrDrakken



Series: Practice Makes Perfect [3]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Secret Relationship, Underage Kissing, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2001-04-10
Updated: 2001-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:35:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyrDrakken/pseuds/FyrDrakken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue will never learn to control her powers without practice.  There are a limited number of people who can survive her unshielded touch for long.  Fortunately one of those is someone she'd like to do a lot of touching with...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: Eventually R/NC17 for sex. Probably PG or PG13 starting out, barring occasional rough language.
> 
> Series: Following "Drunken Musings" and "Settling In."
> 
> Disclaimer: Lots of corporations like Fox and Marvel, and people like Bryan Singer and Hugh Jackman and Anna Paquin, hold more rights in the characters and settings I'm playing with than I do. But I'm even more broke than Marvel, so I'm not worth the time and trouble of suing... The only "profit" I'm getting out of this is getting the demons out of my head without resorting to my family's traditional substance abuse, serial marriages and/or self-mutilation...
> 
> Thanks: To all those whose feedback on my three prior stories (and repeated requests and demands for sequels!) have given the incentive to continue to lose sleep slaving over an overheating laptop! And again to Seperis for her betaing, too... Also to Diebin and the mysterious individual known as "The Goddess" for their advice on conversational German, and to Sare for aid in translation of a bit of colloquial Spanish! (And a belated distant thanks to my old e-mail buddy Claudia in Bavaria, who discussed the comparative drinking ages in the US and Germany with me way back when...)
> 
> Soundtrack and quotations: I've tried to find a quote to kick off each chapter that reasonably matches the mood or subject matter, some taken from song lyrics and others not. All songs quoted were chosen for lyrics first and foremost, and should *not* be taken as "soundtrack" indications. (Any attempts to create a soundtrack for this series based on songs quoted would be slightly misguided and in several cases disturbingly inappropriate. Anyone who actually listened to Tool's "jimmy" while reading "Drunken Musings" probably knows exactly what I mean! ;-D )
> 
> With that being said, A Perfect Circle's _Mer de Noms_ album remains *the* music of choice for my fic writing needs (and a kickass album all round)...
> 
> Note:  
> [ ] = Thoughts  
> * * = Emphasis  
> :: :: = Telepathy  
> / / = Rogue reliving a bit of borrowed memory  
> ( ) = Translations or parenthetical remarks

* * *

"I think it, I say it. That's my way."  
— Cordelia, _Angel_ , "The Bachelor Party"

* * *

It had been a fairly nondescript afternoon when Logan decided to ask a fairly interesting question.

"Hey, kid, mind if I ask you something?"

"Hmm?" Rogue glanced up from her text of _Julius Caesar_ before returning to the complexities of Elizabethan dialogue.

"This is kind of personal, but since it's *me* asking..." *That* earned him her full attention, and at her inquiring look he went on. "You told me — way back when — that you put that first boy you kissed in a coma for three weeks." Her face grew shuttered, and he continued before she had time to brood on the touchy memories. "Then you touched me that first time, and I was up in a few hours — which is me we're talking about, so a normal person might have been out for a week or two — but then came Mags, and he was not only still on his feet after touching you, but able to use his powers a little bit within a few minutes..."

*This* was unexpected territory, and he was relieved to see the closed look leave her face, although she still looked wary. "Yeah, that's right..."

"So — was Maggie just *real* resistant, or did he not touch you for as long — or were you somehow trying to keep from absorbing anything from him?"

"*Yeah*, I *was* — trying to keep from getting his power, I mean."

"So — if you were able to hold back like that with him after — *how* many times had you touched someone before him? Me, and that kid — anyone else?"

"A few brushes, real quick touches, but after what happened with David I was real careful not to let it happen again."

"So, if you got some *practice*, you could maybe learn not to do that little draining trick whenever you touch someone?"

"Maybe, but who's suicidal enough to let me practice on them?"  The half-conscious bitterness underlying the wry question was sharp enough to taste, and Logan replied without even having to think about it..

"Me."

She gave him a startled look, and he tried to read the emotions flashing through those doe-like eyes — fear and worry, then hope, and perhaps a wicked gleam of mischief flickering beneath. Whether that buried delight might have been at the prospect of getting a bit more of him in her head, at the thought of getting to borrow his abilities again for a bit, or just a bit of earthy pleasure at the thought of actual skin-on-skin contact, he couldn't say. But then, regrettably, her conscience kicked in. Using her gift was Wrong, since it stole from others in the best of cases and risked their lives if things went badly. "Logan, I couldn't ask you to..."

"You ain't asking, I'm volunteering."

"...Or let you do that. It's dangerous — "

Having made the leap by offering, Logan wasn't about to let her dither her way out of it now. Without giving her a chance to pull away or fend him off, he reached over and clapped a hand to her cheek.

She shouldn't have been quite so surprised. She *knew* him, including his tendency towards instant action, and after all it was the subject of their current discussion. Still, she wasn't expecting it, and for a moment she felt the dark nearly-pleasurable surge of Loganness inundating her mind and body.

But coming with the inrush of energy were Logan's current thoughts, and right at the top of the surge was the reminder of the point of this whole exercise. Remembering the incident with Magneto, she forced herself to resist the influx, and struggled to prevent the intake of energy.

Logan had a moment to revel in the feel of Marie's satiny skin under his palm — a touch he had expected never to feel without intervening layers, barring another attempt to preserve her life after deathly injury — before the pull began. A hot quasi-electrical current seemed to reach from the hand touching her skin down his arm and through his entire frame, and he could feel himself weakening under the hold. Paralyzed by the tug of Rogue's uncontrolled ability, he could do nothing to pull away from her, unless and until she released him — but after a moment, he actually felt the pull ease and the pain lessen. It was still unpleasant, and he wouldn't recommend the contact for anyone not possessed of a mutant healing factor, but he thought he could take it for a fair bit of time before it would kill him.

But it wasn't very much more than a few seconds before she reached up with a gloved hand and pulled his own hand away. "No more," she said softly.

Logan exhaled shakily and let his hand stay in hers for a moment before reclaiming it. Healing factor or not, he felt more than a bit rundown — yet also triumphant. He had no idea how long the contact had lasted — it had seemed to last hours, days even — but he was fairly sure it was at least a bit longer than their first touch had been, and he was still conscious. Definite progress.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, sure..." Deep breath. "Give me another minute or two, and we'll try it again."

"*Logan*..." Alarm warred with that half-hidden pleasure in her expression. "I think it's really great that you want to help me, but I don't want to land you in the Medlab."

"S'okay. I know when I've had enough."

"Liar."

A huffing chuckle and a half-grin were her only responses.

After a minute or two in which Wolverine made no move to resume contact, Marie cautiously tried to return to her English assignment, only to be startled back out of the play by Logan's brusque, "Ready?" Before she could reply, he reached forward again and put his palm to the side of her neck, thumb along her cheek and fingers plunging into the hair at the nape of her neck.

She tensed, and again concentrated on resisting the flood of thought and sensation. The stronger taste of Logan in her head gave her both a taste of exactly how determined he was to stick this out for her, and the added stubbornness to fight her power for as long as the pair could take it. She got less energy from him this time — perhaps a bit because she had gotten a slightly better sense of how to hold back her gift, or maybe it was the tiny bit of forewarning that made her able to resist this absorption from the beginning — but stopped it after a minute or so when she saw Logan getting paler and paler. "Enough," she murmured, pulling his hand away from her skin.

"No more," she warned softly. "Not tonight."

The implicit statement being that there *would* be more attempts made on other nights, Logan chose to be heartened by this statement. "Later, then," and he was pleased that she didn't disagree.

He let his fingers comb though her hair as he pulled his hand back, as though by accident, but the fresh thoughts of his lurking in the back of her head suddenly told Marie that the caress had been less than accidental.

Attempting to return her attention to the works of the Bard had been hard enough after the first touch, but right now Marie no longer gave a damn what Cassius' deal was or how Brutus felt about the matter. The first contact had been mainly shocking and his uppermost thoughts had been about the sincere desire to help her gain control, but the caress accompanying the second had brought a whole new batch of his thoughts to her conscious realization. The flickering suggestions of ways he'd like to eventually be able to touch her were both unexpected and somewhat motivational.

Right now, she wanted — needed — a bit of time to sift through the new memories absorbed and reassess what she had thought she knew about his feelings for her. She had managed to settle herself into the role of adolescent gal-pal to the guy she was nursing a wholly-unrequited lust for. Learning that he had been having some decidedly unplatonic thoughts about her was oddly frightening, since it suggested some exciting new paths their relationship could head down, with unforeseeable results.

But she needed to get out of here — in his bedroom, for Chrissakes, and sitting on his *bed*, with the man himself within arm's-reach — before she did something flaky and schoolgirlish, like turning into a giggling idiot, or else climbing into his lap and suggesting that they start trying out some of the 101 Ways to Get Each Other Off Without Direct Skin Contact that he had been thinking up over the past year or so... "I... I think I should go now."

He gave her a worried look — because he had an inkling of which thoughts of his were currently bouncing around in her skull, or because he genuinely didn't want her to leave? "All right... See ya tomorrow, kid... Marie...." She could hear a gentle tone underlying the casual statement that she wouldn't have known to look for before then, especially when he dropped the nickname to use her own given name.

It was wonderful, it was unexpected, it was terrifying. She grabbed her text and fled to the safety of her own dorm room...

* * *

"i'd sell my soul my self esteem a dollar at a time for one chance one kiss one taste of you"  
— "magdalena," by A Perfect Circle

* * *

After a night to sleep on the idea, and bit more brooding on the matter, Marie had to conclude that Logan's idea had some merits. Of course the hell of it was that she had a fresh dose of*him* in her head, and he was not only genuinely sincere in his offer to play guinea pig for her, but had a certain personal motivation in making her touchable. She had no idea how much of her current willingness to experiment with him might be due to the collusion between her secondhand case of Logan's willingness and her own desires that coincided so surprisingly with his own. Possibly if there had been a little less of him in her head at the moment, or if she'd had a bit more time to consider the matter or to get an outside opinion, some downsides to the plan might have occurred.

But Logan and Rogue were happily outvoting Good Li'l Marie on this one, so when Logan collared her the next day in a break between classes and wanted to try again, she didn't argue. She had an hour or so between history and biology for study time, so five or ten minutes in Logan's room wouldn't exactly be missed from her schedule.

As before, her only warning was the "Ready?" before he put his hand to the side of her jaw, mere seconds after closing the door behind the two of them. It wasn't much time to prepare herself to resist before being touched — and perhaps he would have been wiser to have sat down first. As it was, his knees started to buckle when she pulled his hand away, and she had to make a grab for him. Had she not absorbed a fair bit of borrowed strength, she probably wouldn't have managed to keep him on his feet, but somehow she managed to prop him up against the wall.

"Right... Better... next time?" he managed after a minute, and she shook her head at the bravado.

"Don't you have a self-defense class this afternoon?" A rhetorical question — the answer was already in her thoughts.

"Hmm?" A blink, before the gears caught and the wheels turned. "Later."

"And you still wanted me to try this *now*? Less than half an hour before?" She gave him a raised eyebrow, leaving it to him to fill in the unspoken commentary on the wisdom or lack thereof of his chosen timing.

"I'll be fine by then," he said defensively. "Besides, aren't you supposed to be learning *not* to do this to me?" The Logan between her ears told her that he really *was* feeling a bit foolish for not having thought this through before impulsively hauling her off to his room, but wasn't about to come right out and admit that it had been a less than stellar idea.

"Right. From here on out, no more ‘practice' until *after* classes are done for the day."

"At least until you get good at it," was his conditional agreement. He gave her a half-grin, and her very own personal subliminal Wolverine supplied that he wasn't going to let her feel anything less than confident in the eventual success of this little project.

* * *

"I know you well.  
you are a part of me.  
I know you better than I know myself.  
I know you best,  
better than anyone.  
I know you better than I know myself."  
— "Part Of Me" by Tool

* * *

It was just as well that *he* was so sure that she'd learn what they both wanted her to, because after a week she was getting a bit discouraged. She was still "studying" in his room at night — the given excuse being that Kitty and Jubilee (especially Jubilee) tended to be noisy, which was actually true — but two or even three times a night he would lay a hand to her face, or catch hold of the segment of arm bared between glove and sleeve, or even take her ungloved hand in his. And two or even three times a night, she would take his hand away from her skin and leave him dizzily clinging to consciousness.

The day she found herself tracking Jubilee from dorm room to gym by scent alone, she realized that she'd absorbed a bit too much Wolverine for now — especially when she found herself winking at Jean in bio class.

Coming to Logan's room as usual right after dinner, her first words were, "No more." He gave her a startled look, and her subliminal Logan complained, [You're *giving up*?] sounding equal parts hurt and peeved. "Not — I don't mean ‘no more' *forever*, just — we need to back off a little for a few days. I need to stop and think about what I've been doing wrong, before we try again."

Both Logans were willing to accept that. "That might be a good idea. Try to think of a new angle, something like that." [Give me a bit of a breather,] Subliminal Logan added.

"Besides, I need a few days to let the insides of my head settle a bit, before I start smoking cigars and stealing Scooter's bike."

Logan chuckled but didn't say anything. [Aww, but you're so *cute* when you start acting like me...,] came the internal commentary, which made Marie giggle a little in response. Logan stopped laughing and gave her an alert look. [Probably wondering how much of me you've got in there — I mean, in *here*.]

Changing the subject a little, Marie suggested, "I start acting too much like you right now, someone may figure out I touched you again, and want to know why."

A wary tilt to the head, and the guarded response, "Well, I'm trying to help you control your gift — nothing wrong with *that*, is there?"

[Unless Jeannie or Chuckie take a look in my head and get an idea of *why* I want to get my hands on a sixteen-year-old girl so badly...] "Well... It's a bit of a risk, even for you, and someone like Scoo— Scott or the Professor might not like the idea much."

"True..."

"So maybe we need to keep this just between us? For now, at least?"

"That... *might* be a good idea." [As much as I hate skulking around like this, we're probably going to be better off if no one else knows what we're playing around with yet,] Subliminal Logan noted.

* * *

"I am too connected to you to  
Slip away, to fade away.  
Days away I still feel you  
Touching me, changing me,  
And considerately killing me."  
— "H." by Tool

* * *

A few days went by — time for Subliminal Logan to quiet down and for Real Logan to go around giving Marie thoughtful looks, though not mentioning their little practice sessions at any point. Marie missed the acerbic grumble in the back of her head when it faded from ever-present to occasional, and missed the little buzz she got from absorbing Logan's sharper senses and restless energy in small regular doses.

It was when she realized just *how* much she missed borrowing little bits of Logan that she got an inkling of her real problem. Her gift may have been painful to those she touched, and on a conscious level she was horrified at what she did to those she absorbed energy from — but to her it felt good, even wonderful if what she was absorbing came from someone whose thoughts she didn't mind sharing. Logan was already in her head in residual form, and she *knew* how much she liked having him there. Absorbing his abilities was a joy, and the urge was there every time she touched him or he her — to *keep* touching him, to take him into her until he would always be there, and never fade.

Now *that* was a kicker — that the one person willing and able to practice touching her was the one person she was most tempted to use her power on. [Maybe I shoulda started visiting Eric in his plastic cage and practiced on *him*,] she thought wryly to herself. (The idea had certain merits. Having already absorbed him once, she wouldn't exactly be getting anything particularly new and damaging from further contact, and his powers were a lot less nasty to pick up than, say, Cyke's uncontrolled eyeblasts.)

On the other hand, secondhand Magneto dreams weren't half so pleasant as some of the ones she had gotten from Logan's mind. Oh, sure, there were his nightmares, filled with pain and violence, of being in that mysterious lab or in any number of half-remembered battles — but then again, there was the ever-so-odd schizophrenic pleasure of erotic dreams from Logan's point-of-view starring herself as the guest of honor...

* * *

"to touch upon the surface, is not for  
what it seems, I take away  
my problems, but only in my dreams."  
— "Brackish," by Kittie

* * *

(She was sitting at the head of his bed leaning back against the headboard, a textbook open in her lap — except that she was also standing at the foot of the bed looking at herself. But that wasn't her, that was *Marie* over there on the bed — and she was Logan — except that she was also Marie, wasn't she? But that didn't matter right now, because she was on the end of the bed now, crawling on hands and knees like a stalking animal towards the girl in the nightgown studying and pretending to ignore her — *him* — whoever she was... And s/he came up beside Marie, reaching over to close the book firmly and gently pull it from her hands. And as she raised her head to meet his eyes, he set the text aside and raised his hand to her face. And there was no pain, no pull, and he slid his hand into her hair and pulled her into a kiss, warm and slow and deepening, and felt her ungloved hands sliding up his chest and then around his body, pulling him closer. And then she was pulling his shirt up and off, and he was reaching for the skirt of her nightgown and pulling it up, up, baring long lean lovely legs, curved hips, slender waist, rounded breasts, and then it was over her head and off and for whatever reason she hadn't worn any underwear when going to study in the bedroom of a man old enough to be her father (if not her grandfather)... And he was touching her, happily, painlessly, wherever he wanted to, waist and belly and breasts and thighs and silken furry dampness between... And she was reaching for the fly of his jeans and helping him skin them off quick as a thought, touching *him* wherever she wanted to, though where she wanted to was really only one place and it was exactly where *he* wanted to be touched, caressed, rubbed as hard as she wanted to do so... And then her arms were around him again, pulling him closer, between her parted thighs, guiding his hips as he slid himself into her, warm yielding silken smooth snug gripping...)

And Marie woke panting, feeling her heartbeat throbbing in her chest and even more strongly between her thighs, making it very easy at that moment to settle the question of exactly what gender she was, and therefore *who* she was. She put one hand wonderingly to her own breast, Logan still strong enough in her mind to delight in the feel of the soft mass in her palm, then lifted her head from her pillow enough to make sure that Kitty and Jubi were both sound asleep, before sliding the other hand down to ease that pleasant ache.

[Now, see, if you can get yourself under control, you wouldn't always have to be doing this *yourself*...,] came an internal voice, though at the moment she couldn't for the life of her have said whether it was Subliminal Wolvie or her own personal internal monologue. Didn't much matter, though, since Logan and Marie were both agreed on this point. [Hell of a motivation for *not* draining Logan dry whenever I touch him,] she thought to herself in her last clear moment before drifting back to sleep...

* * *

"so grow libido throw dominoes of indiscretions down falling all around in cycles circles constantly consuming, conquer and devour  
it's time to bring this fire down bridle all this indiscretion long enough to edify and permanently fill this hollow  
feed me fill me up again temporarily pacifying  
feed me here fill me up again temporarily pacify this hungering"  
— "the hollow," by A Perfect Circle

* * *

Oddly enough, the thought recurred to her on waking the next morning, and then again during the day at unexpected moments. So she was in a decidedly odd mood when she grabbed her pre- calculus textbook and headed for Logan's room after dinner. He glanced up when she entered the room — her presence there at that hour so expected that she no longer bothered knocking — but refrained from asking if she was planning to resume ‘practicing' that night.

She saw the question on his face, though, or picked it up from Subliminal Logan on a non-verbal level, and answered it. "I thought of something." Accepting the raised eyebrow for the question that he wasn't bothering to voice, she answered, "My problem seems to have been that I've been enjoying absorbing you too much. I need a little more... *motivation* not to take from you whenever I touch you."

Having dropped her eyes to the floor when saying that last bit, she didn't catch the way his eyes had widened at that statement — especially when she followed it up by peeling off one glove. To his credit, he had his expression back under control by the time she lifted her gaze to his face again, and didn't flinch when she raised her bared hand — though he held himself very still as she reached for his face.

Marie gently pressed her palm against his cheek, fingers tracing through his sideburns, and thought very, *very* hard about how much she wanted him to be able to touch her anywhere he wanted to for as long as they both wanted to...

For his part, Logan was startled again — twice. First was the feeling when she touched him, still pulling but not painfully. More of an unpleasant tingling, as of feeling returning to numbed flesh, but not even close to the searing drain of lifeforce that it had been the first couple of times. Unthinkingly, he raised his hand and pressed it to hers against his cheek, before they both realized the significance of the action — that her hold on him had been lessened to the point of allowing him to move.

It was as their eyes met each other wonderingly that Logan got his second surprise. With her standing mere inches from him, he couldn't help but detect the clear scent of arousal wafting from her body — which gave him more than an inkling of how she was "motivating" herself not to drain him.

Giving her a half-smile and a quirked eyebrow, he suspected that she was still drawing enough from him to pick up the drift of his thoughts, which had become somewhat graphic as he thought of a few "motivational techniques" that might have a hell of a lot of potential under the circumstances. She blushed a little — which he couldn't help but find adorable — but left her hand where it was, and her scent became if anything even more enticing.

He retained enough self-control to refrain from doing anything like pulling her into his lap or trying to touch *her* in a few interesting places (if necessary through her clothing), but she no doubt continued to pick up little flickers of what he was thinking about doing with and to her, if her continued blush was any indication.

They managed to stay like that for several minutes, before she sighed and pulled her hand from between his own hand and cheek. He reluctantly let her go, then spoke. "That wasn't bad at all."

And it hadn't been. He was a tiny bit drained, but not exactly beyond the point of standing on his own power, and more than ready for a repeat performance whenever she was willing to try again.

"Could have done better," she said. "I was still getting a little from you."

"So we keep practicing..."

* * *

"Here comes a kiss that I've never had  
Nothing feels like this if it were heaven tonight  
I love you"  
— "Heaven Tonight," by Hole

* * *

And so they did. The next day, catching her in the hall between classes with no one else in sight, he drew her into an unoccupied classroom and put a hand to her cheek. They were able to stay like that until she had to go to her next class, and he was still on his feet and unwobbly when he took his hand away.

After that were a lot of similar incidents. Stopping by his room in her longer breaks between classes, or evenings after dinner, and seeing how long they could hold contact. Brief pauses during the day whenever they caught a few moments alone for fleeting touches. One afternoon when they ducked into an unoccupied classroom, he pulled her close and held her, resting his cheek against hers, and that was best of all, with their arms around each other and his scent so close to her reminding her clearly and sharply of exactly what she was trying to gain from this little exercise. There was almost no pull at all that time, only a faint tingle against his cheek and the softest whisper of his thoughts against hers — and so of course they had to repeat that particular pose, as often as possible.

They never discussed what kind of "motivation" she was using, or what they were leading up to with all of this "practice," aside from her not needing to shroud herself in layers of fabric to protect those around her. They didn't need to, since he had guessed and since she absorbed little flickers of what he knew on a daily basis.

So after a few weeks of this, he didn't feel the need to say anything but, "Let's see if I can make your second kiss turn out a little better than your first," before pulling his cheek away from her face and pressing his mouth to hers instead.

She hadn't been expecting it, but she clung to him and gamely returned the kiss, parting her lips slightly and letting him brush his tongue against hers. When he tried probing a bit deeper, she playfully sucked at the tip of his tongue before nipping at his lower lip a bit. He growled softly low in his throat and put a hand to the back of her head, plunging his fingers into her hair and holding her closer.

Several nuzzly nibbly minutes later, he pulled away from her lips and rested his cheek against her forehead. They held each other close, getting their breath back, before he murmured, "Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful."

"Hmm?" she inquired contentedly, for once not following his train of thought.

"No pull at all."

She pulled away abruptly to meet his eyes, realizing that he was right. She hadn't even absorbed a little bit from him during that kiss.

* * *

"I would feel infinitely more comfortable in your presence if you would agree to treat gravity as a law, rather than one of a number of suggested options."  
— Barnabas, as quoted by Delirium, SANDMAN #63, by Neil Gaiman

* * *

Logan and his mercilessly talkative passenger got back to the school a bit past ten at night. Most of the kids were already in their dorm rooms for the night, so McCoy's welcoming committee consisted of Cyke, Jean, Storm and Xavier, as the adult contingent of the school. Between the confusion of introductions and the activity of hauling Hank's various personal belongings and equipment up to his new room or down to the Medlab, it was well past eleven before things were settled and Logan was free to escape to his own room. [Enough damn *talking* for one day...]

Except that when he opened the door, he found company waiting for him. But in this case, much more welcome company than the loquacious medico. "Waitin' up for me?"

Marie smiled, closing her textbook. "And reading my history chapter. Just about done now, though. So what's the new doc like?"

Closing the door and taking off his jacket, he answered, "Nowhere near as pretty as Jeannie. Least, not unless you're into big, furry, and *blue*."

"*Really*?"

"Yep. He's friendly enough — talks too damn much, though. Might turn out to be a decent enough teacher, but hell to be stuck in a car with him on a long trip..."

She giggled. He smiled at her and caught her hand, pulling her off the bed and onto her feet, then into an embrace. She leaned into him happily, resting her cheek against his. "Poor baby, stuck in a car with a chatty Cookie Monster all the way from — where was he from, again?"

"Illinois."

"Like Kitty!"

"Mmm." Logan ran his hands down Marie's back, wondering if he should risk sitting down and pulling her into his lap, or if it would be pushing things a bit.

He felt her tense slightly, as though she'd known what he was thinking — [You idiot, she probably *does* know what you're thinking!] — before she relaxed a bit and said, "I wouldn't mind."

He didn't need to be told twice. Reaching down to pull the chair around, he dropped into it and pulled her abruptly into his lap. She squeaked in startlement, and there was a moment of confusion before she wound up settled more or less across his thighs, her knees draped over one arm of the chair. She shifted position nervously, placing her elbows on the chairarm behind her back, trying not to rest too much of her weight on his lap.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not too heavy for you?" she asked worriedly.

He laughed, wrapping one arm around her behind her back and nudging her arms forward off the armrest. "No." He pulled her back against him, gently, and gave her a minute to get used to the idea. To distract her, he asked, "So what's Storm got you guys readin'?"

"Oh, we're up to the early colonization of the Americas. She was talking about the first colonies in the US today and I about died giggling remembering — " She broke off as Logan, deciding to see how well her control worked with distraction — or possibly trying to distract her from excessive consideration of which regions of hers were currently resting in close proximity to which regions of his — started to ease off one of her gloves.

"Go on. You were laughin' because...?"

"Oh, um, for some reason I had this bit going through my head from a CD Kitty has, where there's a spoken word bit where the girl who does the singing was comparing the conditions of the Pilgrims and the Donner Party, and suggesting that the Pilgrims may have resorted to cannibalism that first winter, and I know it was silly but I just had the hardest time keeping a straight face while Storm was going on and on about hardships and religious persecution and stuff..."

He treated her to a soft gruff chuckle — the Wolverine's sense of humor being hard-edged enough to appreciate a good cannibalism joke — while lacing the fingers of his free hand through those bared by removal of the purple satin glove.

"... And she was almost glaring at me out of the corner of her eye, and the rest of the class was starting to look at me funny, and then I whispered to Kitty and Jubes, ‘The similarities in situation between the Donner Party and the Colonial Pilgrims...," and Jubes started laughing so hard she fell out of her seat!"

"I guess she got the joke?"

"Yeah, Kitty made us both listen to the CD with her. Freaky, but good. Gothic chicks with cellos."

Logan quelled the budding impulse for further information — funny Donner Party talk or not, he wasn't interested enough to *request* Goth music torture. "Did Stormy give you guys any problems?"

"Oh, she asked us to share the joke with the rest of the class, and Kitty told her that the lecture was reminding us of a CD that mentioned the Pilgrims and that she *really* wouldn't like the side discussion we'd get into if we told her what it said. So she asked us if we'd gotten ourselves under control and if she could *please* continue the lecture and all that, and we got mobbed after class by people wanting to know what was so funny. Kitty wound up playing that track from the CD down in the rec room after dinner." Another giggle. "I don't think Storm's going to be very happy with us tomorrow if she brings up the Pilgrims again..."

Logan chuckled softly at the image of Storm trying to lecture a dozen giggling teenagers. [Not a problem I think I've ever had...] Sliding one hand from Marie's shoulder down her side to tuck around her waist, he left the fingers of the other curled through hers. [This is good. This is *very* good.]

Except that then the Wolverine started taking too great an interest in the proceedings. Between that whole proximity thing and the fabulous closeup view he was getting of her cleavage, this was about thirty seconds from getting really embarrassing. [Enough lap time for one night...] Quickly lifting Marie to her feet, he stood up. "Why don't I let you finish up your readin' while I run down for a beer or six?"

He was still holding her hand — chances were that she had an idea of the reason for his mood change. Especially when she gave him that naughty little half-smile... "Can I have one?"

He smiled back. "Maybe... If you've finished your homework!" he added as a parting shot while on his way out the door...

Life was good. He pondered this on the way through the hall and down the stairs. Decent digs, good food. People he liked to hang with, people he liked to harass, people who didn't call him a mutie freak. Places to go running off to on occasion, excuses to get into fun knock-down drag- out fights on a semi-regular basis.

Even that "teaching" crap wasn't too bad. Bunch of bleeding-heart worry about mutants getting along with humans — but the fact of the matter was that when he thought about some of these kids he liked running into some of the stuff he'd had to deal with in the past...

Well, they were damned lucky to have *him* teaching them how to deal with a fight, rather than Scooter. With what he had to show them, if they actually paid attention then they might stand a reasonable chance of coming back alive.

Not that he'd ever been that big on "saving the world" or "contributing to society" or any of that other volunteer crap. But he had to admit — in a very small part of his mind, and never out loud — that it did feel kind of good to know that he was doing something to protect the people he cared about.

Yep, life was good. He had his girl, waiting for him upstairs, and he had his beer, waiting for him in the fridge.

Except that it wasn't all there.

He found himself staring in disbelief at the empty spots in the carton.

*Someone* had raided his beer supply.

Not just one bottle, but *two* were missing!

Growling faintly, he opened the door wider and leaned in, wondering if he had a hope in hell of identifying the thief's scent amidst the various food odors. Pulling the remains of the sixpack out, he sniffed at them. Unfortunately, it wasn't a scent he recognized.

Rumbling louder in frustration, he straightened and started to close the door — then paused. His instincts were telling him that *someone* was there.

Except that as he slowly turned on his heel, scanning the darkened kitchen, even his night- sensitive eyes were detecting no one.

But sight wasn't the Wolverine's primary sense. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on what his nose was telling him — despite the lingering aromas of food and a large number of other people — and what his ears were telling him.

When he was sure, he jumped.

To the eye, there was nothing above the refrigerator. But to the touch, there was *something* — warm, furry, startled, struggling. He dragged whatever-it-was down off the appliance, dropping it abruptly to the floor. Then he stared.

The — *thing* revealed in the light from the still-open refrigerator in no way appeared human. Had he not spent the better part of the day in unfortunately close proximity with someone who resembled nothing so much as an over-educated and oddly-colorized former star of _Wild Kingdom,_ he would have assumed "animal" on seeing the fur. Except that the blue fur didn't appear to be anything found in nature.

And then there was the fact that the guy had been invisible until Logan pulled him out of the shadows. Not merely hidden in the dark — Logan's night vision was good enough to have easily spotted him atop the fridge, had he been there to see. He hadn't been.

Which said "mutant."

But still — there wasn't just the fur, there were the hands. *Three* digits on each? And yellow eyes, pointed ears...

Okay, this was *definitely* someone who belonged at Xavier's. (If not a circus.) No way in hell he could go out on the streets safely looking like *this*.

But that didn't give him free rights to Logan's beer.

One bottle of which was still clutched in an oddly-shaped hand.

Wolverine glared at the bottle, then back at the guy on the floor. He growled menacingly.

"Ah, Gute Nacht... Entschuligung..." (Good evening... Excuse me...) "Ah — beer?" the nameless guy offered helplessly, waggling the bottle in what was evidently hoped to be an appeasing manner.

Logan was not appeased. Noting how little liquid remained in the bottle — even accounting for the amount spilled mere seconds ago — he was once again reminded of just why he was annoyed with this particular guy, fellow mutant misfit or not. The growl increased in volume.

Which was when the guy yelped in alarm — something that sounded like, "Tut mir leid!" (I'm sorry!) — and disappeared, in a <Bamf!> of displaced air and a whiff of sulfur.

Logan jumped back a step in startlement. Then, annoyed with himself for his reaction, he started forward. [No way this fuzzy punk is gonna be laughing at me...] Except that he seemed to be alone in the kitchen — and as the sulfur reek cleared out, his nose and ears concurred with his eyes. The misfit was gone.

"Fuck!"

So annoyed that he almost forgot to grab his remaining beer, Logan left the kitchen. On his way back to his own room, he kept an eye — and nose, and ear — out for the beer-guzzling pest.

While passing through the lobby, he heard a suspicious jingling from the chandelier and stopped to glare up at the vibrating light fixture. Nothing to be *seen* up there — but it was dark...

He growled warningly, and was rewarded with a gasp, followed by absolute silence. Grumbling to himself with mingled satisfaction (at the appropriately frightened reaction) and frustration (at the inability to dole out appropriate retribution), he returned to his room.

"What, you couldn't wait to get to your room and started without me?" Marie teased when she saw the missing spaces in the carton.

"No, *somebody* decided to help himself," Logan grumbled.

"Who?" she asked with startlement. Scooter had made some very pointed comments when Logan first started keeping beer in the fridge, citing the necessity to keep alcohol out of the hands of the underaged. This ceased when Logan demonstrated both willingness and ability to track down anyone bold enough to help themselves to his beer. After having tracked a few sticky-fingered students to their respective dorm rooms — not to mention spotting another trying to smuggle a couple of cans out of the kitchen under his jacket — the word had spread. The Wolverine's Beer is Hands Off.

"New guy. Don't know him, but at a guess I'd say the Germans have started crossing Smurfs with gargoyles..."

* * *

"Hell is only half full  
Room for you and me  
Looking for a new fool  
Who's it gonna be?"  
— "Monkey Wash Donkey Rinse," by Warren Zevon and Duncan Aldrich

* * *

Marie got to meet the newest teacher fairly early the next day. Jean introduced him to the biology class, announcing that he would not only be assuming a position in the Medlab downstairs but would also take over the advanced biology classes. Rogue quickly decided that she liked Dr. McCoy (or Hank, as he immediately insisted that the students call him) — but she could also see how he could have worn on Logan's never-steady temper.

Lord knew, the man liked to *talk*!

"And that, class, is why one should always exercise *extreme* caution when choosing a test subject for a new experiment — and why one should only use *oneself* as an absolute last resort," he concluded humorously, finishing the explanation of how he wound up covered in indigo fur. Moving on to the topic of other mutants he had dealt with in the past, he discussed the recent trends in human mutation and why some abilities — such as telepathy — were comparatively common while others — such as Bobby's icy talents — were rare or even unique.

Marie nibbled on her lower lip while debating whether or not to ask him if he'd ever run across another mutant with a healing factor — if so, perhaps it could have turned out to be a long-lost relative of Logan's. She was jarred from her thoughts by Jubilee's elbow.

"Ask him about your gift, Rogue!" Jubes whispered. "Maybe he knows how to fix it!" While Marie was debating whether or not Hank would be able to come up with anything that would work better than her practice sessions with Logan, Jubi impatiently raised her hand and spoke up without waiting to be called on. "What about somebody who can absorb someone's energy by touch? Powers and memory and stuff?"

Most of the glass looked at Rogue, involuntarily. She blushed at the attention. McCoy, by no means slow on the uptake, added up the question with the attention paid to the girl layered with more clothing than was necessary in the current weather. "Some forms of empathy or telepathy work best through touch contact," he said thoughtfully, "and there are a very few mutants able to mimic the powers of other mutants around them. I've never heard of quite that form of ability before..." Marie stared at her desk. [Just means you're special, sweetheart. I already knew that,] Inner Logan murmured. The affectionate comment helped, as did the reminder that she was in the process of learning how to do without the extra layerings. She raised her head and met Hank's sympathetic look calmly.

After the bell rang and their books and papers had been gathered up, Jubes and Kitty eagerly led the way to the cafeteria. "Just wait till you meet the new guy," Kitty said happily.

"New guy?"

"Yeah, he got here last night," Jubi filled in. "You would have met him, if you didn't spend the evening lurking in Wolvie's bedroom waiting for him to get back from picking up Hank." She gave Rogue an amused roll of the eyes.

"What's he like?"

"Kind of like Hank!" Jubes said.

"Huh?"

"He's *blue*," Kitty filled in, "but he's got six fingers and yellow eyes and a *tail*."

"Six fingers?"

"Three on each hand," Jubes filled in. "He's kind of cute, though. Like a fuzzy friendly gargoyle."

The final word kicked up a memory. "He wouldn't by any chance be German, would he?"

At the startled looks and simultaneous, "How did *you* know?" she just smiled and led the way into the cafeteria.

The "new guy" was incredibly easy to spot. Surrounded by several other students, they might have been comparing notes on their lives before reaching the X-Mansion — or talking music or TV shows, for all she could tell. Walking right up to him, she offered her hand. "Hi, I'm Rogue," she said without preamble.

Glancing up in startlement, he paused for a moment before self-consciously offering his hand in return. A thumb and only two fingers, as Kitty and Jubes had said, with the digits being broader than usual, making the entire width about that of a standard five-fingered hand. "I'm Kurt," he replied. She saw he had noticed her gloves but wasn't commenting on them yet.

[The beer,] Inner Wolvie reminded. "Did you by any chance take a couple of beers out of the fridge last night?" Rogue obliged her subliminal boyfriend.

Kurt looked guilty — and even more so at the chorus of gasps and "Uh-oh!" surrounding him. He nodded sheepishly.

Jubes whistled. "You took some of Wolvie's beer? And you're still in one piece?"

"‘Wolvie'? Like ‘wolf'? Good name," he muttered.

Inner Wolvie grumbled and muttered, trying to decide if he found that complimentary or not. "C'mon. You'd better find him and apologize." The yellow eyes widened. "It'll be okay. You're new, you didn't know it was his. He'll snarl at you a little, but he shouldn't hurt you. Much."

Kurt seemed to view the prospect with equal parts reluctance and horror. Fortunately, Kitty and Jubes were backing her up on this one. "You're gonna have to run into Logan sooner or later. Better do it quick and try to get on his good side — *before* you wind up in class with him," Kitty advised.

"Class?" Kurt asked incredulously. "He *teaches*?"

"Personal combat and self-defense," Rogue filled in.

"And he's rough enough on people he *likes*," Jubi added with the relish of those delivering bad news. "You *don't* want to leave him mad at you."

The generalized agreement from those surrounding Kurt — as well as the obvious group decision that he needed to go make his peace with the cantankerous Wolverine *immediately* and come finish his lunch afterwards if he survived — managed to get Kurt out of his seat, albeit slowly. Bracketed by the three girls, he allowed himself to be led from the cafeteria and outside. Being such a pleasant autumn day, it came as no surprise that Logan had chosen to grab some food and bolt for the woods. Following the hints of her Subliminal Logan, Marie took the lead and managed to find the tree he was leaning against without much searching.

Once Wolverine actually came into view, Kurt's nervousness became outright balkiness. Kitty and Jubes each reassuringly but firmly gripped one of his arms, neatly forestalling his attempts to escape by either teleportation or simply turning tail and running.

"Logan!" Marie called happily, though in fact he had no doubt already heard and perhaps even smelled them coming. Looking around, he studied the four crossing the grass towards him. Kurt ducked his head, uselessly attempting to hide behind Rogue. "Logan, we want you to meet Kurt," she announced as they came close enough for normal conversation.

Logan gave him a sharp look. "I think we ran into each other last night," he said with a faintly dangerous tone.

Kurt hunched his shoulders unhappily. "I'm sorry." Twisting his tail in his hands nervously, he lapsed into German, mumbling, "Tut mir leid, tut mir wirklich leid..." (I'm sorry, I'm really sorry...)

"He's new," Kitty added helpfully. "He didn't know it was yours."

Kurt shook his head, silently agreeing that he hadn't known. He continued worrying at the end of his tail.

"Yeah, it's not like it's got your name on it," Jubes added.

Logan not being totally unreasonable, the genuine misery before him made him much less angry than he had been the previous evening — as did the obvious youth of the offender. "Never had to — I'm the only person here that drinks it." The startlement in Kurt's expression suggested something to Logan, seasoned traveler that he was. "Drinking age in this country is twenty-one," he added.

"What?!" Kurt dropped his tail in dismay.

The girls studied him. "What is it in Germany?" Jubes asked curiously.

"For beer? Sixteen..."

"Whoa, *dude*! Wish *I* lived there!" Kitty and Rogue giggled at her reaction.

"Well, over *here* it's twenty-one, so hands off." Logan ended the conversation with finality, dismissing the subject and letting Kurt off the hook.

[Unless you ask me nicely,] Subliminal Logan added for Rogue's benefit. She giggled and gave him a wave and a smile as the girls and Kurt turned to head back to the cafeteria. Could be she'd get her food and come back out to join him — though the other three were getting into an interesting conversation, with her two roommates comparing notes with Kurt as to other ways in which Germany might prove to be as good a country to be in, if not better than, the US. Despite the powerful argument of the comparative legal drinking ages, Jubilee was finding it hard to let go of the idea that her own nation was superior to all other countries in all respects that could possibly matter. [Hmmph, do her some good to learn the world doesn't *really* completely revolve around America,] Subliminal Logan grumbled. [Especially not Southern California,] Marie silently agreed, having run into the slightly more subtle form of regional snobbery Jubilee practiced on occasion.

Glancing back over her shoulder, Kitty saw her trailing behind the trio, lost in her own internal conversation. "You coming?" she asked her friend.

Marie grinned and ran to catch up.

* * *  



	2. Practice Makes Perfect (part 2)

* * *

"I know what's good for you...you can touch me if you want  
I know you're dying to...you can touch me if you want  
I know what's good for you...you can touch me if you want  
But you can't stop"  
— "Queer," by Garbage

* * *

Things didn't always go so well as that first kiss, of course. Logan made a point of surprising her on a semi-regular basis, wanting her to learn to deal with unexpected contact as well as possible. When he came up behind her and touched her without warning, there would be a bit of a pull before she caught herself and stopped it, and sometimes she couldn't quite prevent a trace of absorption even when she was prepared. But they were both determined, and encouraged by her success so far, and they kept at it.

Sometimes when she was in his room studying, sitting at the desk or on his bed, he would quietly come up beside her and lay a hand on the back of her neck. Sitting on the bed was especially interesting, since he had room to sit beside her and rest his fingers against her face or take her hand into his, just maintaining a light contact while she studied, trying to get her accustomed to controlling her power without conscious thought. He might gently remove one of her gloves, sliding a finger or two into the top and slowly peeling it down her arm and off.

That last was perilously similar to foreplay, and made it very difficult to concentrate on what she was supposedly studying — but that was all right with her, since she wasn't exactly having a hard time keeping up with her classes, and there were some very interesting things that could be done when she put her books and homework aside. She didn't even feel particularly guilty, since the students *were* supposed to be learning to control their powers, and what she had been doing with Logan was doing more for her along those lines than the rest of the school combined had been able to do...

She still didn't trust her newfound control enough to share the news with her friends and teachers, though — let alone finally get rid of the gloves and scarves. With Logan was one thing — between his healing factor and the strong presence already in her head, a little more absorption was no big thing. But that didn't mean that an unexpected brush against a different person couldn't still result in a stay in the Medlab for them and an added voice in the eternal committee meeting within her skull.

In truth, she had gotten so used to the extra layers that the idea of walking around without gloves — at Xavier's *or* outside the school grounds — felt uncomfortably like the idea of wandering about in public in her underwear. So for the moment, the practice sessions with Logan remained their little secret.

Which she learned to be thankful for, the next time her parents called.

* * *

"If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something."  
— Murphy's Eighth Law

* * *

As Xavier had told Logan during his initial tour of the school, most of the students were runaways. There were a number of reasons for this. Many of the young mutants, like Marie, had found themselves the target of hostile attention from neighbors and former friends as soon as their powers manifested. Others, unfortunately, came under attack from their own families, or had even been thrown out.

Xavier had seen the wide range of backgrounds his budding mutants came from, and understood that in some cases a clean break was the best for all concerned. But if at all possible, he encouraged reconciliation with their families once they had settled in at the school. For the parents who had tried to support their children despite public disapproval, the news that their children were alive and well in a safe haven came as nothing short of heavensent. Even when families had reacted unfavorably to the discovery of their offspring's mutations, an abrupt and mysterious absence occasionally made the heart grow fonder. If nothing else, it made it easier for the family to maintain the pretense of normalcy if the absent child was "away at a boarding school for gifted students," which made them more tolerable in their absence. A very few lucky students (including Kitty) had never run away at all, but had instead been discovered and contacted by Xavier regarding enrollment in the school. So mail, phone calls and even holiday visits home were by no means unknown for many of the students.

Shortly after Marie's arrival, Xavier and the other adult X-Men had begun subtly encouraging her to consider phoning or writing to her family, informing them of her whereabouts or at least sounding them out regarding a reconciliation. The whole idea gave her a sinking feeling, and fear of having some well-meaning person tracking her family down and contacting them on her behalf kept her from giving her real name to anyone else long after she had settled into her place at the Academy.

Until Logan returned, and settled into his own somewhat unique position in the school. Chuckie being the sharp character that he was, the idea of enlisting Logan to the cause of ferreting out Marie's past had occurred to him before very many weeks had passed.

Surprisingly for such a deeply private individual, the idea captured Logan's support with very little consideration. Or perhaps not so surprisingly after all. As he noted to Marie late one Friday night (the resident pariah and the Designated Curfew Enforcer for the weekend bonding in front of Letterman), having no living relatives that he knew of had made him highly sensitive to the idea of having a family. Appreciative, was the word. In his case, anyone who may have cared about his absence when Whoever-the-hell-they-were grabbed him and wiped his memory fifteen or more years ago had no doubt given him up for dead by now — assuming they were still themselves among the living. His ties were severed, for better or for worse.

But Marie had a living family — parents, a younger brother, other relatives — and she hadn't been gone from home much more than a year. Chances were she was missed, whether she expected to be or not. And it was a very sad thing to be alone in the world. Sad enough to maybe be worth risking a phone call to prevent.

Not that he was suggesting she give them an address to come find her, or even a number to return the call to if things didn't go well. Just — a few minutes to sound them out, let them know she was all right, and see how they reacted...

He didn't ask questions about her home life before or after her gift surfaced, or whether her parents had reacted that badly to learning of her mutation. He didn't even ask her last name. He didn't nag, or try to pressure her into doing what he thought she should do. He simply gave her his honest opinion on the importance of families, and his risk/benefit assessment of a simple phone call to her parents. Then he let the matter drop and left her alone to think about it.

A few days after Logan gave his thoughts on the subject, she came up to his room after dinner. Standing awkwardly just within the doorway, examining her gloves as though they were a constant source of interest and worry, she asked him if he had any ideas as to what she should say if she called up her parents after so many months with no word. They kicked some ideas around for a while, he being a proponent of the baldest possible, "Hi Mom, I'm okay and in a school for mutants. Miss you!" while she wanted a bit less of the bare-bones approach.

After his offers to talk to her parents first himself, or to come down to the lobby phone with her for what essentially consisted of moral support, she asked him to come downstairs with her to stand lookout in case of eavesdroppers or interruptions. So he was too far from the phone to overhear Marie clearly, let alone catch her parents' side of the conversation. He noticed that she cried at one point, and spent a few minutes silently arguing with himself over whether or not to intervene — but she seemed relieved when she eventually hung up, and she thanked him on the way back up to her room. And after that, Rogue became one of the students who received occasional family phone calls in the evenings.

Logan allowed himself to feel mildly smug about his role in the events. A month or so after the initial call, her parents actually visited the school for a weekend. Logan didn't learn this until Monday morning, however, since Xavier had come to him Friday night with the name, location and appearance (the latter imparted telepathically) of a young mutant in Charleston who absolutely *had* to be picked up that very weekend. Accepting the assignment with his usual appreciation of a job that got him out of the state for a few days, he was chagrined afterwards to learn that he'd missed a chance to meet Marie's parents.

This lasted until Marie acerbically asked him how he expected her parents to react to, "And this is my friend Logan! When I met him, he had just got done pounding the crap out of a bunch of drunken rednecks in a bar in northern Alberta, and the next morning when he got thrown out of the bar for being a vicious mutant and I stowed away in his trailer, he refrained from leaving a teenaged girl standing by the side of the road in the snow in the middle of nowhere. Oh, and he likes motorcycles, hockey, drinking and violence!"

He got the point. And he didn't have to be lured away from the X-Mansion on her parents' occasional future visits — he made a point of clearing out himself. So Marie's parents had certainly heard of her good friend Logan, but somehow they just never got a chance to meet him...

Which was how matters stood, when Marie's parents called again with the standard questions...

* * *

"bend around the wind silently blown about again i'm treading so soft and lightly compromising my will i am"  
— "rose," by A Perfect Circle

* * *

"How are you, baby?" This from her mother.

"Those other... you know, *mutants*... treating you all right?" And there was Dad, on the other extension.

"You haven't learned how to control it yet, have you, baby?"

"Because you know we'd bring you home in a *second*, if we only could..."

"Just as soon as it's safe honey, you let us know. Don't even wait for the end of the semester..."

"We miss you, baby."

Because somehow, when Xavier was giving the Gordons the grand tour of the school and giving his usual speech about a safe environment for the young mutants to learn to control their powers in loving and accepting surroundings for their eventual graduation as useful and productive members of society — well, her parents heard the phrase "control their powers" and more or less stopped listening. That was the part that mattered to them.

Because compared to some of the other kids they were seeing, their little Marie was just so *normal*. Oh, sure, there were those shocking white streaks — Marie's mother had almost cried the first time she saw her daughter again, sensing the world of hard experience and lost innocence that the bleached hair signified — but hair could be dyed. If she could just learn to turn her unwelcome gift *off* —

Then she'd be normal again. And then they could take their little girl home, and everything could go back to the way it was supposed to be...

Listening to her parents now, for the first time since she had begun practicing her control with Logan, some unconsidered consequences of her new lessoning began to occur to her.

Like having to pack up and return to Mississippi in mid-term. Like having to say goodbye to her new best friends and roommates. Like having to put up with the same rejection from her neighbors, classmates and former friends that had driven her from home in the first place.

Like having to say goodbye to Logan.

Tangling her fingers anxiously in the phone cord, she asked, "Momma, did you ever think — maybe I could — even if I learned to control my — my mutation — " [Don't forget, ‘if' and not ‘when,' and don't call it a ‘gift' or a ‘power'!] "Maybe I should just — stay here until I graduate high school? I mean, it's with my friends, and I'd *still* be a mutant, and — "

"Don't be ridiculous, honey! You belong right here with your family!"

Marie swallowed nervously. [Easy does it — too much arguing and they may want to know why I'm suddenly so interested in what happens if I learn to control my power...] "Are you sure? Everyone would remember what happened — with David — and they might not care that I could keep from doing it..."

"Baby, if we have to, we'll move. To a new town, somewhere they won't know you." The declaration was flat, a statement of fact.

Marie blinked back tears. Her parents meant every word — and they loved her, they did, and they *meant* well, but...

Well, they were missing parts of the big picture. Because they wanted things to go back to the way they *should* have been, before her would-be boyfriend wound up in a coma and she wound up climbing out her bedroom window in the dead of night to run as far north as she could get before her money ran out. But that just couldn't happen — time wouldn't turn back for wishing.

She wasn't the same person she'd been before she kissed David — or even before Magneto's machine, or meeting Logan — and trying to return to the little girl she'd been before all the insanity was something akin to trying to stuff a chick back into its broken eggshell. It was time to be thinking about stretching wings, not returning to the egg — and she sensed that she'd be able to fly a lot farther starting from Xavier's than from her narrow-minded little Mississippi high school...

[They're gonna believe what they want to believe, because they don't want to admit that their little girl isn't ever going to have the life they planned for her,] Subliminal Logan whispered to her. [You can come close — school, friends, love, even college and a career — but because you've got that little something different, it's never gonna be quite the way they'd expected it. But that doesn't mean it can't be good — or that they can't learn to accept it one day,] he added. [Just not yet...]

She bowed her head in silent acceptance. [As long as they insist on trying to make me pass for human, I can't risk telling them when that's possible.] As she changed the subject, moved on to inanities, gossip, her grades and her latest trip to the mall, Inner Logan noted something else. [I'm having a real hard time picturing Wheels deliberately lying to your parents the next time they ask how you're doing with your gift — and I *damned* sure can't see Cyke keeping this a secret from them with the way they keep asking!]

Her eyes widened at the realization. [If I can't tell my parents — or anyone who would tell my parents — or anyone who might tell someone who *might* let it slip to the wrong people...] The corner of her mouth settled into a wry quirk. [Unless something changes, looks like we're gonna be sneaking around for a *long* time...]

* * *

"Magic from the hand  
We're makin'  
(Weird science)  
Things I've never seen before  
Behind bolted doors  
Talent and imagination  
(Weird science)  
Not what teacher said to do  
Makin' dreams come true  
Living tissue, warm flesh"  
— "Weird Science," by Oingo Boingo

* * *

One night a month or two past their first kiss, Marie was leaning back against his pillow with her copy of _Ethan Frome,_ when Logan settled himself next to her. She gave him a sidelong glance from the corner of her eye but pretended to remain absorbed in her book. (In reality, every nerve ending had quivered into alert as soon as he sat on the bed.) He tucked a pair of fingers into the top of her left glove and slowly pulled it down, letting the backs of his fingers caress her skin all the way. At her wrist, he took the bunched-up fabric in his left hand and pulled it off completely, letting his right hand caress her wrist en route to her now-naked hand. Lacing his fingers through hers, he raised her hand to his mouth and gave it a brief kiss on the back, before pressing it against his cheek for a few breaths.

Taking her hand from his face, he disentangled his fingers from hers and passed her hand to his left one, freeing his right arm to put around her shoulders. She contentedly leaned into him, laying her head on his shoulder briefly before pretending to return her attention to her book. He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, enjoying the scent and feel of the girl in his arm while giving her a bit more time to stop thinking about her control.

When she turned a page — presumably indicating that she was successfully "tuning him out" enough to continue reading — he turned his head and exhaled softly against her ear. She froze at the unexpected almost-caress, and he felt a brief tingle in the hand still holding hers. After her initial startlement, she quickly regained control, and he leaned his head closer and did it again. She kept perfectly still, only her eyes moving to glance at him without turning her head, and he caught the interest that had entered her scent.

A moment later, and he moved in even closer, slowly running his tongue up from her earlobe along the outer rim of her ear. He felt her shudder slightly, and tightened his arm around her shoulders. Planting a soft kiss in the hollow beneath her earlobe, he let go of her hand and reached for her face, stroking up along her cheek and turning her head to face him.

She met his gaze wonderingly, eyes showing that endearingly paradoxical mix of youthful innocence oddly coupled to world-weary experience. He stroked his thumb along her cheek, remaining lost in her regard for a minute before bringing her mouth close to his. She closed her eyes, dropping her now-forgotten book to the bed as she raised a hand to his shoulder. Logan ran his hand back into her hair, holding her close as he sucked playfully at her lower lip. She sighed and pressed herself closer to him, parting her lips invitingly. He took the hint and brushed his tonguetip along hers.

Sliding his hand down the back of her neck to her shoulder, her own arm was nudged downward by his elbow and her hand trailed from his shoulder down along his side. Somehow he found himself pressing her back down against the pillow, one knee between her thighs. She moaned low in her throat and gripped his thigh tightly between her own, pulling him closer with both arms. He took his lips from hers and began leaving a trail of kisses down her throat — down, down, to the hollow at the base, and further down, until he was nuzzling between her breasts. She tangled her hand in his hair, silently assuring him that she approved.

Retracing his path upward with his lips, he slid his hand down her side, and then let it drift up to claim her right breast. She made a little noise compounded of surprise and eagerness, pressing herself into his palm. He rubbed her nipple with his thumb, feeling it harden beneath her shirt and underthings, and reached her lips again. She ran her tongue enthusiastically along his lower lip, before nipping him lightly. Nudging his knee upward between her legs, he felt her press against his upper thigh, before beginning to rub herself firmly against it.

Finding this to be a laudable impulse, he rolled to his back, then grabbed her hips and pulled her over on top of him. There was a moment of startled adjustment on her part before she got herself settled with her knees to either side of him, and then he shifted her so that she was pressed suitably against his growing erection. "You just rub all you want to right there, darlin'," he murmured in her ear, and after a pause to get used to the idea she did.

Letting her settle into a comfortable back-and-forth rhythm and beginning to move with her, he ran his hands from her hips up to her breasts. "Mmmm," she breathed, pressing a bit more firmly against him.

He made a noise somewhere in the middle ground between a moan and a growl, pulling her back down for another kiss. When she lifted her lips from his to catch her breath, he reached down to the hem of her shirt and slid his hands up under it, working his way up to her breasts — when he felt an unpleasant tingle. "Marie," he breathed softly, warningly.

"Mmm?" she moaned.

"You're startin' to lose it, baby." She stopped moving and after a moment the faint pull disappeared. He began to move his hands over his skin again, finding her satiny bra and beginning to stroke her through it. She sighed happily and began rocking again. He was debating the merits of removing her bra when the pull began again. "Ma-*rie*..." he complained softly, pulling his hands and forearms away from her skin while leaving them within her shirt.

She growled in frustration (which he *still* thought was absolutely adorable) and after a second he cautiously pressed his hands to her skin again. The tingle was gone and they resumed where they had left off — but as he reached behind her to undo the clasp of her bra, it returned.

He pulled his hands abruptly out of her shirt, and she moaned in protest. "I did it *again*?"

"It's all right, Marie, you just keep getting distracted. You're still new at it — you'll get good at it soon enough." He managed to keep his voice soothing, though at the moment what he wanted most was to be able to start clawing her clothes off and just *have* her, right then and there.

Sighing in frustration, she started to roll off of him, but he caught her. "Wait, wait a second. Just because we need to stop touching right now — doesn't mean we have to stop *touching*." Making sure she was following his meaning, he put his hands to her hips and began rocking her pelvis against his again.

She got the idea quickly enough and he resumed running his hands over her body, keeping them on the outside of her shirt this time. Which was all very well and good, especially when she began moaning and rubbing herself against him *hard* — but he was desperately wishing he could do something to up the ante. If they kept this up for too long, sooner or later somebody might come looking for one of them, and he *really* didn't want to stop this time without bringing matters to a satisfactory conclusion.

"Marie — mmm — :GrrroOOOHHrrr: — do you — trust me?"

"Mmm?"

"Here— roll over." Tipping her off of him, he reached for the fly of her jeans. She stared up at him, nervousness and desire chasing themselves across her face, as he unzipped them and slipped a pair of fingers inside.

The right spot was incredibly easy to find, even through her panties — hot and swollen, and when he pressed his fingertips against it Marie gasped and arched herself against him, eyes rolling shut. He started rubbing firmly, feeling her opening her thighs as far as she could get them and clinging to his shoulders. When she began to buck her hips convulsively, he pressed her face into his shoulder, muffling her cry when she came.

Giving her a few more strokes, he withdrew his hand, carefully placing it on her hip lest he do something excessively Wolverinish like start sniffing or even licking his fingers. (In lieu of being able to actually put his face in her lap, of course. He thought it was a bit early in the game to be trying something that unabashedly earthy with her yet.) While she came back to herself, he concentrated on not panting too hard and trying to ignore the painful tightness of his jeans.

"Oh, Logan. That was..." Words failing her, she pressed herself against him contentedly, and then couldn't help but notice what he hadn't been mentioning. "And you didn't..."

"It's all right," he told her. "You don't have to worry about it." [I'll just take a nice cold shower after you leave — or better yet, an even nicer long hot soapy one...]

"Here, let me..."

"You don't have to...," he said while rolling to his back to allow her better access. [You don't *have* to, I don't *expect* you to, but Lord knows I'd love it if you would, darlin'!] "You've never done this before," he felt compelled to add, while helping her undo his belt. Truth was, knowing how inexperienced she was made *him* all kinds of nervous — there were all sorts of games he was used to playing in bed, but he was terrified of taking her too far too fast and scaring her.

"I've got the memories of three different men inside my head. I may not have ever *done* this before, but I sure as hell remember how it's done," she noted acerbically while unzipping his fly.

"You're gonna have fun trying to explain the stains on your glove," he warned.

She looked at the glove still on her right hand, and asked him dubiously, "Would you trust me to do this with bare hands?"

He reached up, touching his hand to her cheek and pulling her down into a kiss. Back in control of herself now, there was no pull. "Yes," he said simply.

He lifted his hips to help her slide his jeans partway down his legs, and his black briefs after them. He was half-expecting her to pause and inspect the territory thus revealed, but then again with so much of him in her head she probably knew what he looked like naked as well as *he* did.

Starting with her hands against his belly — one still nervously gloved, despite his suggestion — she playfully teased her fingers through the hair leading down to the Main Attraction. He didn't try to halt the small moan that escaped his lips when she wrapped both hands around his penis, lacing her fingers together around it and beginning to rub firmly. Vaguely remembering that they didn't want to be heard, he flung one arm across his face while wrapping the other around her waist. When she shifted techniques and began experimenting with a sort of alternating hand-over- hand motion, he growled softly at the sensation of alternating warm bare skin and cool polyester satin. She sped up a bit, and he couldn't stop himself from beginning to move his hips to the rhythm set by her fingers.

Marie listened happily to the random series of growls and muffled whimpers her lover was making. A year ago she would have considered a scene like this to be impossible fantasy — the only person willing to touch her at all, even through the safe barriers of clothing, seemingly considered her too young to be interesting.

It was impossible to mistake his interest now.

The fact that she was now touching him bare-skin-to-skin only added to the surreality of the moment.

[Surreal can be a *good* thing,] she thought to herself as Logan tensed beside her, a sound midway between cry and growl vibrating low in his throat. [As long as this isn't a dream I have to wake up from one day...]

Stretching herself out alongside him, she thoughtfully dried her bare fingers with the already-damp glove on her other hand. Catching his breath, Logan opened his eyes and caught her at it. "Sorry about the glove, baby."

"Nah, it's okay. I'll let it dry and see if I can clean it then."

"If it doesn't come clean I'll buy you a new pair." Logan pulled his shorts and jeans back up, rezipping his fly but ignoring his belt for the moment.

"Or I can just leave these here for *next* time...," she suggested wickedly.

Logan flashed her a half-grin at the promise inherent in "next time." "Remind me to borrow some Saran Wrap from the kitchen and I'll show you something even more fun than *this* was..."

* * *

"From what I hear, [Logan] ain't playin' with a full team in the _cabeza_ , you catch my drift?"  
— Angelo Espinosa, WOLVERINE #94, by Larry Hama

* * *

[Okay, let's review. How the hell did I wind up standing in an alleyway in LA listening to the sound of my supposed pickup running like hell for the next county?]

Logan considered the matter carefully as he tracked the Xavier Academy's would-be newest student. Angelo Espinosa had considerately run upwind of the Wolverine, meaning that he didn't have to stay within sight to keep from losing the kid. Let him get out of sight and out of normal earshot, think he'd lost Logan, and relax a little...

He found the kid crouching beside a dumpster, keeping his head down and trying to pass himself off as a generic vagrant. Getting an accurate fix on his position from the breath sounds around the corner, and a positive ID from the scent, he knew exactly where Angelo was before he came around the side of the dumpster, abruptly positioning himself in the way of the most direct escape route. "There you are. Finished running yet?"

Angelo jumped to his feet, but quickly realized that flight wasn't an option unless he could get past Logan somehow. "What the fuck do you want with me, man?"

"I just want to talk to you for a minute."

An unfriendly stance, arms crossed. "Talk."

Logan sighed. "Look, have you really thought about what you're going to do with yourself? No home, no family you can call, no future — is this what you *want*?" Hearing himself giving this particular sales pitch always amused Logan no end.

Angelo was blissfully unconscious of the irony inherent in the Wolverine taking a stand for family values. Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, he demanded, "Who the hell are you? A traveling guidance counselor? Someone from one of those youth homes?" With a derisive sniff, "You sure as hell don't look like no social worker."

Logan half-smiled at the statement of the blatantly obvious. "Something like that," he agreed. [I go playing the mutant card now, I gotta show him I'm one too — and he's scared enough already without me popping the claws or showing off the healing factor.]

"*Sure* you are." The kid had ‘I-don't-believe-a-fucking-word-you're-saying' written all over his face. It was competing for room with exhaustion, savage cynicism, and — hidden beneath the rest — bone-deep despair.

It was that last that Logan couldn't help responding to. The kid was making it damn hard to help him — but sometimes being a malignant little shit was all you had left.

No one should bottom out that young.

Not that Angelo Espinosa looked young — far from it. And the rapid maturity forced by a life on the streets was only part of it. The other part was his own unique mutation.

Angelo had skin. Too much of it. Even now, with him exerting as much untrained control as he could muster, his face was slack, gray and wrinkled. It wasn't a pretty effect — and it didn't make it at all easy for him to pass himself off as human.

Which was why he needed to get out of LA and over to Xavier's. The fun part would be convincing him of that.

"I work at a school. It's for runaways. There's a place for you there if you want it." Not the most enticingly-phrased of proposals, but just to see which way the kid jumped...

"Uh-*huh*. Why me? You go to all this effort chasing down any old kid you run across?"

Logan shifted his weight, tried to appear a little less combat-ready. "Most of them don't run that hard."

"Ohh-*kay.* Some guy comes up asking kids to get into his car and let him take them somewhere, and they just go right along. No trouble. No one gets suspicious."

Logan shifted again, preparing to edge into dangerous territory. "Most of them seem to trust their own mutations to protect them." At Angelo's wide-eyed look, he added, "It's a special school."

The kid was not reassured at all. "A school for mutants? And you're trying to take me there?" Warily trying to edge to one side without being too overt about it.

"Are you trying to claim you're not a mutant?"

Which was of course when Angelo bolted. Reflexes taking over, Logan grabbed him and slammed him back into the wall. A little too hard, perhaps, as the back of his skull cracked against the brickwork behind him. When Logan released his grip, the kid slid down the wall and collapsed in a heap on the concrete.

[Oops.]

Guilt fluttering unhappily in the pit of his stomach, Logan checked the boy's pulse. Strong enough. Pulling out his lighter, he pulled up first one of Angelo's eyelids, then the other, to be sure they reacted to the illumination cast by the flame.

Satisfied that he hadn't manhandled his newest charge *too* excessively, he slung the kid over one shoulder and headed for the car. The darkness and the late hour worked in his favor, as he managed to keep from being spotted on the way to the SUV — at least, by anyone who might have been willing to talk to the police. Dumping Angelo into the front passenger's seat, he buckled him in and then climbed in at the driver's side. Good thing he merely looked asleep — Logan didn't like the idea of getting pulled over and trying to explain his unconscious traveling companion...

* * *

"stop the car!  
I wanna get out  
you're so pretty you're so pretty  
I don't wanna go on this joyride Lorraine  
stop the car!  
just let me out at the next 7-11"  
— "Lorraine's Car," by Cake Like

* * *

Luck was with him — the kid didn't regain consciousness until they were well on their way, and already exiting the city. He heard Angelo's breathing change, and realized the kid was awake well before he actually opened his eyes and asked, "Where the fuck are you taking me?"

"I told you. A school for mutants."

"Where the fuck is it — out in the middle of the fucking desert?"

"New York. Westchester."

"YOU'RE DRIVING ME ACROSS THE FUCKING *COUNTRY* TO GET TO THIS LAMEASS *SCHOOL*!?!"

"Not *that* lameass a school — but I can't make promises about some of the teachers. And we're driving because I hate flying."

"Why?"

"I've got a bitch of a time getting past the airport metal detectors." Little joke there — but judging by the increase in the fear scent coming from the other seat, Angelo didn't think it was that funny. Logan sighed. [Need to defuse this...] "Sorry about knocking you out back there. Didn't mean to slam you against the wall that hard."

He gave the kid a quick glance, but he didn't seem to be responding well to the apology. Logan sifted through the possibilities for a new topic but drew a blank — small talk just wasn't one of his skills. Might as well keep quiet until something suggested itself.

Which was why Angelo was the one to break the silence. "You say you work for a school?" The unspoken undertone being, ‘Like you think I'm actually gonna believe *that*!'

Logan gave him another sidelong look. "Yes."

"Some teacher." Angelo felt the back of his head gingerly in silent accusation.

"I didn't say I was a teacher. I said I worked for a school."

A snort of disbelief. "Doing what?"

A shrug. "This and that." A pause to think about what he *really* did, and what he could actually safely say to this kid right here and now. "Keeping kids in after curfew. Picking people up sometimes," with a glance over to the passenger's seat. Reluctantly, "And they made me start giving self-defense lessons."

Another snort. "Thought you said you weren't a teacher."

"I'm not. That's why they can do without me for a few days to go get somebody."

"So you've got a lot of practice in doing this?" Judging by the way Angelo edged closer to the door, he didn't find the thought at all reassuring.

"What, picking kids up off the street and bringing them to the school? I've done it a *few* times, not *that* many."

"And the others all trusted you, came along when you said to?"

Logan frowned. "Pretty much." Now that the kid brought it up, he had to admit that it *was* a bit strange for traumatized runaways to willingly get into a car with a strange and dangerous- looking man just because he claimed to be taking them someplace good. "Guess they either trusted their mutations, or were really desperate...," he muttered thoughtfully. He now realized that it was actually a matter deserving of more consideration than he'd given it in the past.

The conversation halted at that point for an indeterminate period measured by the passing miles of the road, the night and desert surrounding them with silence.

Noticing the way Logan seemed to be paying an unusual amount of attention to the roadsides, Angelo asked, "What are you looking for, man?"

"Somewhere out of the way to stop for the night.

The kid undid his seatbelt and opened the door so fast that only the Wolverine's reflexes could have grabbed his arm before he hit the road. "What the hell is wrong with *that*?" Logan asked, peeved at the kid's reaction.

"Perdoname, the guy who hit me in the head, dumped me in his car and drove me out into the desert starts talking about pulling over someplace out of the way, and I'm *not* supposed to get upset?"

"I was talking about a motel, dammit!" A pause, while Logan slowed but did not yet stop the SUV. "Close the door." Reluctantly, Angelo complied. "Now, I was *gonna* get us two separate rooms — but am I going to be able to trust you not to sneak out in the middle of the night?"

The kid spread his hands, projecting innocence. "Where would I go? We're in the middle of *nowhere*, man!"

"That didn't seem to be stopping you any a minute ago."

Angelo looked injured. "So I panicked. I won't leave. I *promise*."

Logan gave him a good hard look, but in the end decided that a display of trust might calm the kid down. When they found a seedy little highway motel an hour later, Logan got two rooms.

And then he settled by the wall separating their adjoining rooms, just a pace from the door, and waited.

It wasn't ten minutes later that he clearly heard the stealthy footsteps on the other side of the wall, followed by the sound of the other room's door being oh-so-slowly-and-carefully opened.

Logan was already waiting outside the door when it finally opened wide enough for a slender form to tiptoe through. "So much for your promise."

"Ah, *man*! Uh, I was just — was looking for a drinks machine!"

"There aren't any. If you're thirsty right now, you're stuck with tap water."

"Uh... I could go check anyway...," he offered with a hopeful, ingratiating, and completely insincere smile.

"Nope. Back inside."

Angelo reluctantly re-entered the room, then turned in shock as Logan followed him in. "Uh — aren't you going back to your room?"

"Nope."

"What? Why not? You got me. I'm right here. I promise to behave myself..."

"Yeah, like you promised not to leave before? I'm stayin' right here tonight." Logan wasn't sure enough of his ability to wake at the sound of a stealthy escape a room away to risk it — but in the same room, no problem...

"No way, man!"

"Afraid so."

The falsely ingratiating air wore away to reveal some of the tension beneath. "What the fuck are you, my watchdog? Don't I get any privacy here?"

"Be grateful there are two beds in these rooms."

"Chinga tu madre, pendejo!" (Fuck your mother, asshole!)

Logan sighed. "Unless you can tell me who she is and where to find her, that ain't an option. Try again."

Silence.

* * *

"Get in the car  
I can make an honest man of you  
I can make you clean if you want me to  
I can make you go very far  
Just take the car  
Get in the car  
Car  
Get in the car  
Take the car  
To the mountains  
Take the car  
Take the car  
Take the car"  
— "Driving Lesson," by Garbage

* * *

The eventful purchase of a bag and some clothes and things for the kid was something best never referred to again. Logan could only be thankful for the foresight that led him into saving the shopping trip for 3 am in a 24-hour Wal-Mart in Nevada. (As he knew from past experience, graveyard shift Wal-Mart employees will ignore *anything*, up to and including leather-clad shoppers handcuffed to one another.)

It was with a sigh of genuine relief that Logan turned the car into the driveway on Greymalkin Lane. After a week of sleeping with one ear tuned to the sound of a motel room's door being stealthily opened, of driving across the continent with a nakedly hostile and frightened passenger, and of feeling uncomfortably like a warden transporting a prisoner, he was more than ready to turn the kid loose. Let Xavier and his merry band of X-Men cope with Angelo — he just wanted to unwind with some beer and his girl...

Speaking of whom, their late-afternoon arrival allowed an impromptu welcoming committee to greet the returning teammember and new arrival. Aside from the predictable presences of Jean and Cyke, Marie arrived in the garage shortly after the SUV did, with Jubilee and Kitty in tow. Or rather, with Jubilee the ever-enthusiastic in the lead, while the shyer Kitty and Rogue trailed a bit behind, all with welcoming smiles.

Logan sensed the dark cloud in the passenger's seat lifting, and turned to see Angelo's face alight with astonishment. Having reluctantly abandoned the theory that Logan was some pervo with a sick fetish for tormenting mutant juveniles only after several unmolested nights had passed, the teenager had moved on to the belief that he had been abducted for some secret government experiment. More than anything else, it seemed to be the sight of the obviously happy, healthy and untortured young women that convinced him that Logan had been on the up-and-up.

Cautiously climbing out of the car, Angelo was immediately surrounded. Had he not been still wound up from the tension-filled week, Logan might have almost smiled. Scooter was too much of a damn boy scout to be anything nefarious, and Jean was projecting ‘elegant maternal educating presence' or something along those lines. And if the kid had been in any doubt that he was surrounded by mutants, Jubilee's playful miniature fireworks display as she introduced herself and Kitty's retrieval of Angelo's bag through a closed car door quickly verified matters.

Climbing out of his own side of the SUV, Logan retrieved his own bag. He was going to the kitchen for some beer and he was going up to his room. He was going to park himself in front of the TV — with Marie if at all possible — and he was going to leave all the rest of the school to handle its own damn business without him for the rest of the day...

Having made her introduction to Angelo, Marie slipped away from the group and followed Logan out. He heard her approaching and paused just inside the door, waiting for her to catch up. "Long trip?" she asked sympathetically.

"Especially with him convinced I was either a pervert or a government agent."

"*Really*?"

"I don't think he stopped believing he was doomed until he saw you girls coming to — " He broke off as a thought that had been flickering around in the back of his mind connected with another, an idea flickering to life with almost electrical urgency. Halting in midstep as he examined his proposition from multiple sides, he could find no flaw in the construction. "Baby, could you meet me in my room later on? I need to go talk to Chuckie about something — but if this works out, I really *will* have something to tell you..."

He saw her face light up with interest and curiosity, but only dimly, absorbed as he was in the contemplation of the logical conclusion that he could hardly credit. He felt the tug as Marie pulled his bag from his shoulder, absently noting and dismissing her murmur about taking it to his room for him.

Parting ways at the lobby, Marie headed up to his room to wait while he found his way to Xavier's office. He caught the professor on his way out — no doubt planning to come greet the new student. "Ah, Logan! Back again — how did your meeting with young Mr. Espinosa go?"

"Terrible. He wouldn't come with me till I hit him over the head and tossed him in the car. Can we talk for a minute?"

Xavier's face darkened at Logan's blunt rendering of almost-fact as he reversed back into his office. He had enough experience with these little talks with Logan not to bother offering him a seat — the Wolverine had a tendency to pace like a caged animal. If he had spent as much time in Xavier's office as Jean or Scott did, there would no doubt have been a path worn into the carpet by now. "Surely you can't be serious?"

Logan halted and wheeled to face the Professor. "Can't you tell what I'm thinking about?"

Xavier regarded him gravely. "Between the alterations done to your memory and your more — feral — personality traits, your mind is exceptionally difficult to read. Almost as difficult as Rogue's."

[Whoa, now *that's* interesting!] "What's the deal with Rogue's mind?"

"She has too many conflicting personalities crowding for space. They provide too much background noise for her own thoughts to be clearly read."

[Now *that* is damned handy to know!] "Whaddaya know, schizophrenia has its uses..."

Charles gave him a ‘Don't joke about the afflicted' look. "You had something you wished to discuss?"

[Oh, yeah, my idea!] "The kid didn't want to come with me. Had a real problem with running off with some strange old guy he didn't know. Was afraid I was some pervert or something. Haven't you guys ever run across this problem before?"

The Professor looked saddened. "On occasion. We used to make a point of sending Scott out with either Jean or Ororo to contact one of our prospective students — but in recent years we've had too many students here and too few adults to be able to spare two teachers at once."

"Now see, that's it, that's it *exactly*! You can't spare any teachers, and I don't really have that much to teach, so I get sent out alone and I look like a damn child molester. Angelo wasn't really keen on coming here up until he saw Jubilee and Kitty and Rogue waiting there to meet him, so next time why don't I take one of *them* with me?"

"What?" Xavier sat up a bit straighter in his chair (if that were possible). Logan was encouraged by his expression, astonished but not forbidding.

"Jubilee or Kitty or Rogue — maybe even a couple of them. Next time I go running off to Tulsa or Fargo or somewhere to talk some kid into coming here, have one of them along so I look more legit and less like a serial killer." [Ohpleaseohplease...] Logan concentrated on not looking too eager at the prospect.

To his utter delight, Xavier didn't immediately pitch a fit at the prospect of a male "teacher" of questionable morals running off with one or more underaged female students on unsupervised overnight trips. "Hmm... If it were for *short* trips — and if they were able to keep up with their assignments..."

Logan shrugged. "Not a lot to do in a car for all day — might as well study..."

"Perhaps on a *trial* basis..." Xavier rubbed his jaw, frowning thoughtfully.

"Next time you send me out?" Logan thought very, very hard about a week in a car with an upset mutant teenager — because "difficult to read" wasn't the same as "impossible to read," and he'd much rather have the Professor pick up little flickers of Driving With Angelo than images of the sweetly nasty things he and Marie could find themselves doing in a motel room by themselves with no friends and fellow mutants to gossip at noises or come knocking on the door at inopportune times...

"Perhaps..."

Logan nodded and let himself out. He'd said his piece — time to let Chuckie think about it. For now, *he* was going to be passing his idea on to Marie, so they could put their heads together and figure out reasonable excuses for taking Rogue out on these little pickups more often than either of her roommates...

* * *  
  


HERE ENDETH THE WRITTEN PORTION OF THE TALE. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, this is as far as I ever got on this particular story, and it's a dead fandom for me now, so I don't expect to ever get any further. (Aside from the chunks I'd written of what were meant to be sequels to this story, which I eventually posted to my own fic site just to share what further incomplete scraps I had.)


End file.
